


Don't You Know That There's a War On?

by Missy



Category: 1776 (1972)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Returning Home, Reunions, Romance, Slice of Life, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: John returns from Philadelphia, and could he be...whistling?
Relationships: Abigail Adams/John Adams
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2020





	Don't You Know That There's a War On?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



It would shock the Continental Congress and every single burgess in the entirety of those newly-minted United States to hear it, but John Adams had the ability to smile. 

The man was in fact _beaming_ when his phaeton finally rolled up the driveway leading to his beloved Braintree estate on that fair, warm October morning. Truth be told, he was faintly whistling as he swung wide the gate and was promptly tackled by his adoring children, all asking for treats, attention, favors.

He gave them their due, telling Johnny to mind his questions and Nabby her writing – Charles was ordered to climb down from the fence post, and Thomas to watch out for the carriages gamboling down their lane. John ruffled hair and checked grubby hands and passed out barley sticks and bobbin dolls, purchased hastily as he’d rolled through New York.

They cleared out, satisfied. It was their mother who had his eye now, as he sat and straightened up. Ravishing Abigail, with her gorgeous eyes, her lilac scent, beautiful even in her heavily-patched work dress, who approached him even though she was still holding a shovel in her grip. The gardening tool fell inches from his toes as she lurched forth to touch him.

He pulled her close and her embrace was near to desperation. Their subsequent kiss lasted and lasted, and he poured every ounce of longing he’d felt in the past two accursed years without her into it. Memories of steaming away in Philadelphia and listening to Jefferson and Franklin natter on, the lonely meals, the letters written crouched over a too-small desk with a tiny flame lighting the room dissolved in her presence.

Finally, gasping, they broke apart and regarded one another. “Mind the children,” he said, taking a very deep breath and steadying himself, then tugging the hem of his waistcoat. Cupid’s grove would part its precious gates for them later, in privacy.

Abigail pulled back slightly – she had likely forgotten where they were as well. “I have minded them, for two years without you,” she reminded him, fire flashing in her eyes – and cheeks still wonderfully pink. She patted them lightly as she caught her own breath.

“I am aware, madam.” He kissed her hand. “And in tribute, I’ve brought home something of greater import than pins,” he added.

Her fingertips curled around his wrist. “John.” She said his name like a sweet, sacramental blessing. “I’m happy to see you whole and well.” Abigail being Abigail, she took another moment to circle him, inspect him over for buckshot and bullet holes. Bless the woman. 

Abigail kissed his cheek and grabbed the shovel she’d abandoned at her feet. “Now, if you would, the potatoes need pulling up, and the corn plucked. It’s October, you know. The harvest is on – nothing’s to be wasted if we want to survive the winter.”

He sighed at the order, but smiled, taking the shovel from her hand. “As always, dear friend,” John said, rolling up his sleeves and digging in.


End file.
